The Conspiracy of Fun Lake
by silvaduro
Summary: This is a parody of my English teacher. It is EXTREMELY freaky near the end, if you realise that the teacher could be doing this. I was hallucinating at the time and anyone I insult I am extremely sorry and plead forgiveness. If insisted, I will take the


This fanfiction is a fan fiction on our noble and incredibly bad at jokes English teacher, Mr. Cox. Of course, I pray he doesn't read this. If he does, I'm afraid my already average marks may soon plummet down a forty foot crevass and scream in pain. How's that for personnification?  
  
You won't know him, so prepared to be scared out of the tiny mind you call home.  
  
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The Conspiracy of Fun Lake  
  
Dedicated to the Hunchback of Notre Dame –Although Disney made a really bad movie about you, and did what Hollywood inevitably does to any story (gave you a love interest), our hearts are with you and your cause for equality.  
  
All Rights Reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the author.  
  
The Author (Maxwell Charles Keeble) asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.  
  
Any relation to real people (alive or dead), places, objects or events is totally coincidental. This story is a work of fan-fiction, highlighting a story based on a character we all know and love from such exploits as "Destroy the Entire English Language in 80 Days" and its sequel, "Destroy Anyone on Earth's Sense of Humour in 45 Days", and should be treated as such. Hence, no legal action should be taken against the author or anyone related to him (cousins thrice removed excluded).   
  
Should, in extreme circumstances, any of this play be acted out in reality, the author requests not to be liable for this, and requests the moral right to leave the country before you or any legal body lay charges. I hear South America is good at this time of year.  
  
To give you an idea of the time frame this story was written in, it took around fifteen minutes at some point between 3 and 4 am one Sunday morning. Let's see if you could do better.  
  
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The Conspiracy of Fun Lake  
  
In all the many dank, dark recesses of the world, only one was the absolute worst.  
  
It was inside Room N2:2, at Not-Nehs College, at an undisclosed location.  
  
Here dwelt what mothers would, in future generations, tell their children would come into their bedrooms if they didn't brush their teeth and go to bed on time. Here was the Freddy Krueger of the 21st century.  
  
Here, lest I tarry too long, dwelt Doctor Jonas Koxstein, the most evil… No, not genius, that other word… Ah, yes. The most evil mastermind of, basically, scaring the wits out of people, in all the world, let alone the Milky Way. Past there, however, a small (but nevertheless incredibly evil) bacterium usurped him, but a tale for another time that be.  
  
Doctor Jonas was, what many people would say, insane, in every single meaning of the word (except the root mentioned by Plutarch in Life of Antony, also known as perh, hemlock, henbane or belladonna). None more could prove this than his actions.  
  
As the sun was at it's brightest, one calm Saturday afternoon, he crawled out from under the table, took off his aluminium foil hat (along with his toupee) and put down the sheets of paper that were his one and only sustenance; his Marking. He made his way outside; to the bushland that he had made everyone believe was inhabited by snakes, to conceal his evil deeds. He pressed the hidden button, concealed under an adequately placed brick, and walls shot up around the bushland as the trees slowly sank into the ground. Quickly, Doctor Jonas turned on the red pump with all his strength and hence water flowed into what, thirty seconds before, had been bushland.  
  
"Dole is Damn, COME HERE!" He yelled, the varicose veins of his bald head pulsating wildly in all the colours of the spectrum. Slowly, a hobbling figure came through the gate and wandered up the path towards him. Its head turned up to him, and the horrible vision that was then visible would put even Russel Crowe to shame. "Yes, Master… I am here." It said, the voice so incredibly distorted and plain downright odd. Doctor Jonas flinched away, but soon looked back with a sour and disgusted face.   
  
"The bus should arrive soon. Erect the sign, and then check the walls."  
  
"Yes, Master," it croaked again, and turned into the room Doctor Jonas had just left. Heaving with all its might, it pulled from the storeroom a huge sign, coloured brightly with reds, pinks and blues. He placed it covering any view of the pump as it still spewed out water, and there, Doctor Jonas could read with satisfaction, were the bright, friendly letters of "Fun Lake".  
  
The wheels on the bus do indeed go round, but who is the shameful person to scold children for pointing out the blatantly obvious? As the many children sang, the bus they were seated on drew ever closer to Fun Lake. Their voices rose in crescendos, leaving pedestrians smiling in their wake, and it was this innocence that made their fate all the more horrible.  
  
The bus parked outside the newly created Fun Lake, and the children streamed across to Dole is Damn, now dressed in a clown costume that made it look like he was supposed to be a hunched, disfigured creature with a pallid complexion and bright red lips. He pointed excitedly at the lake, mimed swimming as well as he could, and as though he felt they needed extra impulsion, tooted a horn strapped to his belt twice. The children laughed happily and ran towards the water.  
  
Doctor Jonas watched from his window, high up in N2:2, giggling with manic glee. He hurried down the staircase to the exit.  
  
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The Rest of the Story is rated "Something that I can't say on Television". Sorry.  
  
Readers, be warned, the following paragraphs (well, basically the rest of the story) may harm and/or mentally scar a person, place, event or object. You have been adequately warned, as complies with Part 146 of the WRI Act of 1993, pertaining specifically to sections of literature with extremely graphic or morally incorrect acts of violence.  
  
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Dole is Damn stripped off his clown costume to reveal a wetsuit underneath, and sprinted as fast as his half a metre long legs could carry him to the other side of Fun Lake. He dived in and swam to the shore, where the many children were suspended, as though dead, under the surface. The ropes tied around their ankles soon made appearances less deceptive than first thought. Dole is Damn began to untie the children, and watched maliciously as they floated up to the surface. He surfaced himself, and turned towards Doctor Jonas, standing on the bank, jumping up and down in glee.   
  
"Dole is Damn, bury those who are of no use!" Doctor Jonas screamed, pointing furiously at a patch of recently turned earth. "The others, we shall give to the charities!" With this final note he brought an inconspicuous, legal looking blue car around to the bank and piled the boot full of the children's bodies. He pulled on his toupee and climbed into the driver's seat.   
  
At every Good Sammy bin, and Planet ARC Card recycling box in the town, he deposited a child, in the hope that he could make the world a happy place for both children and adults. In the morning, after the bins and boxes had been checked, the media tracked Doctor Jonas to his home, where he explained what he had done and showed them the intricate apparatus and the scale diagram of the world with a Lake Fun in every continent, and explained that it would be a world-wide success. He said a jovial hello the men in white suits and called one of them by name as he was placed in a truck with padded rooms and taken to his classroom, where to teach to unsuspecting students.  
  
So, you see, while older children were coming home exhilarated from their Saturday morning sports and Parents are listening with good humour, the little children of the town were being driven to their doom, all on the whim of a crazed psychopath, willing to do anything to give children what he thought was a 'little slice of fun'.  
  
Doctor Jonas Koxstein (PhD in Psychology) is now in a mental asylum, where nurses (fully armed with electric prods, no doubt) tend to his needs through a titanium sheet four feet thick. He says he is happy, and still teaches at Shentonne when he is not being lobotomised (A Gram of Brain Tissue a day Keeps the Demons at Bay!).   
  
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Note to Anyone Reading– I hope you appreciate the satirical references throughout this story and realise that in no way is it anything to do with anyone, although the circumstantial evidence is numerous and conclusive to that fact.   
  
Please take it as the joke it was intended as.  
  
If it was in bad taste, I shall have to take lessons in humour. Can you recommend someone?  
  
And by the way, I hold no grudges against little children and I am a firm believer that hunchbacks are human too. Just with back problems.  
  
Fanfiction? You had to be there.  
  
YAW. 


End file.
